


Waiting in the Wings

by Eggfulgent



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Ballet AU, M/M, alternate meetings au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 04:50:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11456355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggfulgent/pseuds/Eggfulgent
Summary: The Mariinsky Theatre troupe is touring in New York. Tensions between Russia and America are high, so Napoleon is sent to find out if any of them are spies.The ballet au nobody asked for.





	Waiting in the Wings

The Mariinsky Theatre was touring New York. There was nothing absurd, or out of the ordinary about that. An original piece by the orchestra, played for the ballerinas. There shouldn’t have been anything suspicious about it. New York is a preformance town, people came to perform. The only issue seemed to be, the ballet troupe was made up of mostly Russians. So of course, they were met with mixed reactions from the public. The ballet meant a lot of rich cultured people for Napoleon to rob, so when Sanders told him he would be amongst them on CIA dime, he was enthused. 

Sanders had told him to do what he was best at, which to Napoleon meant seducing one of the ballerinas and finding out if any of them were spies. Simple enough. So when he watched the first show, he picked a few targets. The play bill had some pretty faces. 

When he looked up from the pamphlet, one dancer in particular caught his eye. Tall, thin, blond… Perfect. Only he wasn’t what Napoleon was supposed to be focused on. He tried to put the blond from his mind, and focus on the actual target. A woman who wasn’t actually Russian. Mrs. Teller would be the most likely to spill the beans, a small girl from East Berlin was bound to hold some resentment. 

After the show he snuck backstage to find Mrs. Teller, but was intercepted by a 6’5 block of muscle. 

“You cannot be here.” He said to Napoleon in heavily accented English. 

“And if I am here for pleasure, and not business?” Napoleon asked in Russian, adding a wink. The Russian did not seem amused, and Napoleon watched as the man’s finger started twitching. 

“Case remains, you must go.” The man grabbed Napoleon’s bicep in an iron grip and dragged him out from behind the cyc, through the wings and past the proscenium. He kept his hold on Napoleon the entire time, up until they reached the exit. Before Napoleon could be thrown out on his ass he pulled free and straightened himself out. 

“What’s your name?” Napoleon asked the stranger. 

“Not important, Cowboy.” He said, and with that the suave Napoleon had the door closed in his face. The Red Peril, Napoleon decided on calling him; at least until he knew the Russian bombshell’s name. He was grinning like a madman in the streets. Sorry Sanders, Napoleon had a new mission. 

He walked home, eyes forward. Paying no mind to the pretty women he passed. Even the one woman that ran right into him. She apologized, and Napoleon kept walking. Nothing could ruin his mood. 

The next night Napoleon was seated in the shadows once more. He watched Peril dance, and couldn’t stop himself from grinning. After the show, he snuck backstage again. He managed to flirt with another dancer before Peril caught him. 

“Peril.” Napoleon greeted warmly as a vice grip clamped over his bicep. The night before had nearly left tiny purple fingerprints behind. This was tighter. 

“You need to leave.” He growled, and Napoleon let him lead the way. 

“Aw, didn’t you miss me, Peril?” Napoleon quirked a brow, and resisted a bit. The grip tightened and the Russian’s patience was wearing thin. 

“No.” He said, throwing Napoleon out into the night. 

This time Napoleon waited two days before he returned. He was seated behind the orchestra, watching Peril closely. The man’s attention never once fell on the audience. Napoleon briefly wondered if he should hold off on sneaking backstage, and instead wait for the Russian outside. That thought didn’t last long. The second the curtain closed Napoleon was putting all of his training to work. He didn’t want to get caught. So he stuck to the shadows, timing his movements and looking for Peril. He watched the Russian’s eyes catalogue the darkness, it was subtle; and instinct that spies often picked up. Looking without giving away your knowledge of the intruder. Napoleon decided to test Peril’s instincts, and he shifted his foot a bit. 

He watched Peril perk a bit, not enough to give himself away under normal circumstances, but Napoleon wanted to be found. The Russian let out a huff and turned in Napoleon’s direction. 

“Cowboy, you cannot be here.” He folded his arms over his chest and tapped his foot. 

“Nice bluff, Peril.” Napoleon admired. He took a confident step out of the shadows and faced his Russian dancer. 

“Russians do not bluff.” He smirked, reaching for Napoleon who carefully stepped to the side. 

“I know the way.” Napoleon grinned, leading the way. Peril followed, arms held behind his back. They walked together to the exit, and Peril held the door for him. He smiled to himself and bought tickets for the next show. 

He bumped into a woman, and took a bracelet off her neck and continued on. He needed some way to pay his way. He continued to rob the audience before each show. Lining his pockets with expensive jewelry. After the show he waited center stage for the Russian to show up. 

“This is more acceptable, Cowboy.” Peril emerged from the wings. “But you still should not be here.” He was wearing regular clothes, or as regular as a turtleneck and a paperboy hat were.

“You’ve got to come up with a new line, Peril. Saying I can’t do something just makes me want to do it more.” He threw a wink over his shoulder. The man stiffened and his brow furrowed. 

“Why do you come every performance?” Peril asked, looking more defensive than before. “What do you want.”

“Truthfully…” Napoleon started, and took a step towards the other man. “I’m here to see you.” Napoleon smiled, it was genuine and sweet. Something he didn’t often use on his marks. Peril face turned red. Napoleon was sure the line had worked until the Russian took a large step back and his hand became a fist. 

“Well do not. I am not interested.” He growled, and turned to walk away. 

Napoleon walked out of the theatre alone, and felt a pang of regret. A woman approached him outside and grabbed his bicep. 

“Excuse me sir, do you know where I can find a hotel for the night?” She asked with a small voice. “The place I would normally sleep has retained some water damage.” He looked down at her, thinking of the hotels in the area. She was cute, had an accent, and was likely one of the dancers. His brain was a little muddled. 

“Down the street, on your left.” He nodded the direction, and her eyes followed. For a brief moment she looked confused, but then her smile was back in place.

“Perhaps you can walk me?” Her arm wrapped around his. He looked at the girl, and felt nothing. It was late, but he had a look to keep up. So he walked her in silence, ignoring every conversation started she threw his way. She tried to invite him up to her room, so he politely declined and went on his way. 

He didn’t return to the ballet the next night. Or the one after that. Or any show for the next two weeks. He felt dejected and he told Sanders to send someone else. So when his handler came to his door he was prepared for the worst. 

“You think you get to decide when I send you for missions. Solo, you’re still my property. You go where I tell you, do what I tell you. You don’t get leave, you are a criminal, one we can still put away. It’ll do you well to remember that.” The man said, and Napoleon had to hold himself back. 

“I’m not getting anywhere with the girls, sir.” He said. 

“Then try the men, only a fairy would do ballet. I don’t care Solo, just get it done.” Sanders barked, and let himself out. Napoleon resigned himself to his fate. He needed to stop focusing on Peril, and actually do his job. 

So the next night he waited outside for the dancers to emerge. The first one out was the last one Napoleon wanted to see. Peril came out, his whole body tense. His face was neutral, but his eyes were sad. Both his fists were clenched at his sides, and he had a bruise on his cheek. Of course even at a distance Napoleon noticed these things, he was absolutely smitten. 

“Miss me, Peril?” He called out without thinking. The Russian’s eyes shot up, and the sadness evaporated replaced by confusion, then something Napoleon couldn’t name. 

“Cowboy.” He replied surprised. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Napoleon teased, and jogged over to Peril. 

“It has been long day.” Peril’s body relaxed a bit, dropping down a bit. “I am not in the mood.” He said, no force behind it. 

“How about I walk you home?” Napoleon asked, dead serious. “Or wherever home is while you are here.” He said as an afterthought; a bit awkwardly. 

Peril stared at him, brow furrowed, lips tight. He looked indecisive, several dancers passed by them. He looked at them as they passed. 

“I am not some girl.” He snorted. Napoleon heard the insecurity behind it. The man wanted Napoleon to walk him home, but not with the same implications it held when he would walk a woman home. Peril did not want to appear helpless, or unable to walk himself anywhere.

“I never said you were.” Napoleon said in reply. “I am just returning the favor, and I want to know where they put up the famous Red Peril.” Napoleon watched as Peril glared at him. Searching him for any sign of dishonesty. Luckily he didn’t find anything that would make him second guess Napoleon’s intentions. The Russian started walking, and Napoleon took the invitation and followed. 

Along the way they didn’t exchange a lot of conversation, because every time Napoleon tried, Peril deflected or just shushed him. 

“How’d the show go?”

“Shh, Cowboy.”

“Where are you from?”

“Russia.” 

Suffice to say, it didn’t go well. The place Peril stopped was likely not his actual dwelling. Napoleon ignored that inkling, and gave the other man a smile. 

“Night, Peril.” He waved as the Russian disappeared into the building. He grinned and congratulated himself, but then he remembered his actual mission. He could practically feel the noose around his neck tighten under Sanders’ command. He needed to start doing actual investigative work. 

The next time he snuck in, he didn’t get caught. He was doing his job now, not messing around with a potential partner. He grabbed a few things that could be useful. A book, a wallet, a watch. Nothing too major. While he looked around, nothing caught his eye. Any good spy knew not to give themselves away. That meant he had no news for Sanders. Not good. The man expected -no, wanted- a war with Russia. Napoleon didn’t much care for another war. The ballet was cleared, none of them setting off any alarms in Napoleon’s mind.

Except, Peril. He moved like a spy, reacted like one too. The man was always alert, prepared for anything. Napoleon quickly dismissed the idea. He wasn’t going to tell Sanders, unless it was something serious. It’s not like he spent a lot of time observing the other dancers. 

The next day Peril didn’t dance. He wasn’t backstage, and he wasn’t waiting outside. Napoleon went to the ‘hotel’ that he had been led to the other night, it was confirmed that Peril had never stayed there. Things were starting to look daming. 

He walked to headquarters to report his findings to Sanders, and it occurred to him that he didn’t even know Peril’s name. 

That’s probably why when he walked into Sanders office he was caught completely off guard. He felt pressure on the back of his head, a gun clicked and he let out a sigh. When he looked straight ahead he saw Sanders with an oozing wound in the center of his forehead. 

“Miss me, Cowboy?” A sensual voice whispered in his ear, giving him goosebumps. 

“Peril?” He asked, slowly turning to face the Russian.

“You say this like you did not know I was spy.” He grunted. “Like this surprises you.” While Peril analised him, Napoleon gained the upperhand. He gripped the gun with both hands and brought Peril’s arms up, to the other man’s credit he didn’t discharge the gun like an amature would have. Napoleon was shocked when Peril just tossed the gun away and lunged at him. Rushing him with a headbut that he narrowly avoided. After a brief fight, Peril ended up on top. Literally. Napoleon was pinned beneath 225 pounds of muscled Russian straddling his chest, keeping his arms pinned to his sides. They were breathing heavily, and a wild grin was plastered on his face. He wasn’t dead, and he didn’t think Peril was about to kill him. 

“So, Peril, how does this end.” He lifted a brow, and the Russian stood gracefully. He offered Napoleon a hand, and he gladly took it. 

“Illya.” He said, and Napoleon frowned. “My name.” 

“Oh.” Napoleon said, a little breathless. Illya hefted him up, and their hands stayed together a moment longer than necessary. “What’s this all about then?” He said, gesturing to his handler’s corpse cooling in the corner. 

“I am here to recruit you.” 

“Excuse me?” Napoleon asked, surprised. 

“You are Napoleon Solo? No?” The Russian glanced around. 

“Who do you work for? I find it difficult to believe the KGB wants to recruit me.” He crossed his arms and looked around. Nothing was missing as far as he could tell, so it didn’t seem unlikely that this really was a recruitment. 

“I am not with KGB. I am with U.N.C.L.E.” 

“What is uncle?” Napoleon asked becoming increasingly confused.

“Is acronym. United Network Command for Law and Enforcement.” Illya elaborated, but Napoleon had never heard of it. 

“One hell of a recruitment.” Napoleon frowned again, why go through all the trouble. “Though I can’t imagine why they would want me.” He thought back to recent missions, anything that could have gotten him noticed by another organization. Sure he withheld important information from his handler to avoid a global conflict, but no agency looked for treason in their agents. 

“They have been observing you, Cowboy.” 

“And they sent you.” He deadpanned.

“N’et. Me and Gaby.” Illya walked to the other side of the room and picked up his gun. The safety was on, had been the entire time, and there was no bullet in the chamber. “She is also dancer in show.” Illya explained, and when he got no reply he continued. “You never took notice in her, she was meant to be seduced by you. I put you in her path every evening after show by throwing you out. She walked your way, even got you to take her to hotel. Did not work.” 

“Why’d you kill Sanders?” Napoleon asked. 

“The CIA is willing to transfer you. This man…” He gestured to the corpse. “Would not cooperate.” 

“So you killed him?” Napoleon had done some extreme things, but this seemed ridiculous.  
Illya looked uncomfortable with the question. 

“No, that is not why.” 

Napoleon surveyed the room once more, and put the pieces together. Sanders had never left his seat, so either Illya caught him by surprise or they were having a discussion before Peril pulled the trigger. 

“This man would rather see you killed, than let you go.” He said, his hand starting to shake. 

“Oh.” He watched Illya close himself off and his hand clench into a fist. Napoleon reached out and took the man’s fist between his hands. “Well, we couldn’t have that.” He stepped into Peril’s personal space and planted a kiss on his lips. The shaking subsided and Illya leaned into it. Their bodies came together, and after a few passionate seconds they pulled apart.  
“This is going to a bitch to clean up.” Napoleon sighed.

“Waverly will handle it.” Illya shrugged, and tried to kiss Napoleon. He stopped the other man with a firm hand on his chest.

“And who the hell is Waverly?”

~~

**Author's Note:**

> I have a personal head canon that Illya is a trained dancer, and I know in the end credits it said that Gaby was trained in Ballet.


End file.
